"Good thing you haven't, then," retorted Fred, recovering some of his usual impudence. "My father is a lawyer, and he'd know how to make you smart if you started libelous yarns about me."
"Your father being a lawyer, I think he would also be likely to show an investigating turn of mind. You can put it up to your father if you want to, Fred."
Young Ripley winced. Prescott laughed lightly.
"Now, see here, Fred, I don't want to live on bad terms with anyone.
You've got good points, I'm sure you have."
"Oh, thank you," rejoined the sophomore, with exaggerated sarcasm.
"And I'll be glad to begin being on good terms with you at any time, if you should ever really want such a thing," continued the freshman. "If you were a thoroughly good fellow, wholly on the level, like Badger, Thomp, Purcell, or any one of scores of fellows that we know, then I'd hate to know that you didn't like me. But, as to the kind of fellow you've sometimes shown yourself to be, Fred, I've been really glad that I wasn't your sort and didn't appeal to you."
At this style of talk the sophomore seemed all but crushed with mortification.
"Come, Fred," pursued Dick, not waiting for the other to answer, "be a different sort of chap. Make up your mind to go through the High School, and through life afterwards, dealing with everybody on the square. Be pleasant and honest—-be a high-class fellow—-and everyone will like you and seek your friendship. That's all I've got to say."
"It's quite enough to say," retorted Ripley, but he spoke in a low voice that had in it no trace of combative energy.
"Well, boys, how are matters going?" asked Lawyer Ripley, reentering.
"Fred, have you remedied your boorishness by thanking Prescott?"